


a little vacation

by opalsandlace



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Black Reader, Cross-cultural, Engagement, F/M, Fluff, Intercultural Marriage, Jabariland, Reader-Insert, Romantic Fluff, Stress Relief, betrothel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26312113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalsandlace/pseuds/opalsandlace
Summary: As an American engaged to the leader of the Jabari Tribe, you have a lot to learn. It begins to weigh heavily on you.
Relationships: M'Baku (Marvel)/Reader
Kudos: 24





	a little vacation

**Author's Note:**

> some M'Baku fluff commissioned for @muse-of-mbaku on tumblr <3

To be Jabari King meant preserving milenia of tradition in the wake of sweeping globalization. It meant innovation walking side by side with tradition. Diplomacy in ways never done before. To be King was to embody all the principles of the Jabari tribe, standing tall in the footsteps of every tribal leader who had come before. 

To be Jabari Queen was no different. The title signified leadership in all realms, whether political or philanthropic. The Queen was expected to be just as formidable as her King, capable in combat and counsel. It was a role difficult to excel in, especially for an American.

For that reason, you sat among a group of elderwomen reciting the history of the Jabari tribe as it had been taught to you.

“The Great Hanuman, in all his wisdom, created the Jabari people after his own image: strong, wise, and fair. When the harvest moon--.”

“The blood moon, my dear,” corrected an elder. “Again.”

“The Great Hanuman, in all his wisdom, created the Jabari people after his own image: strong, wise, and fair. When the blood moon shone down on the face of the mountain, formed the first pair from freshly fallen snow.”

For the next three hours, you retold the story of the people who would soon accept you as their own. By night’s end, your throat was tight and sore. Your eyes were dry and tired from the dim firelight of the study. You were hungry and parched, but all you wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep the exhaustion away.

When you had first met M’Baku, you’d never dreamed that you would rule alongside him. In fact, when you had first met, you didn’t even know who he was. 

_

You settled into your seat, adjusting your skirt. You dug through your bag for a pen and pad for note taking. You wanted to glean as much knowledge as possible at the conference today. You still couldn’t believe you’d gotten a ticket. King T’Challa was touring historically Black colleges and universities, speaking with students and faculty about Wakandan culture and Pan-Africanism. You had scored a seat due to the research you were doing for your graduate thesis. If you got really lucky, you hoped you might get a question or two of yours answered by the Panther King at the end of the session.

  
  


King T’Challa strode in shortly. He was every bit as regal as they said. He captivated the audience after just a greeting. By the time he delved into the topic of the hour, everyone in attendance was rapt with attention. It was for that reason that it took you so long to notice the mountain of a man that had taken a seat next to you. 

“A bit long-winded, isn’t he?” joked the man, leaning toward you slightly. 

You startled, having not seen him join you. So close, you caught a hint of whatever cologne clung to his skin. Cedar or pine with a hint of something sweet. When you looked up at him, you found that he looked just as delicious as he smelled. He dazzled you with a smile, bright and gap-toothed. 

“My name is M’Baku,” he rumbled, extending a hand to you.

You grasped it and returned the introduction, earning you another grin.

“A pleasure,” he replied, before turning his attention back to T’Challa. 

The rest of the seminar flowed by perfectly. King T’Challa made dozens of points about the future of the Black community, of the Motherland, and of the country you called home. In no time, the man of the hour began taking questions. Dozens of eager hands, including yours, shot into the air. It wasn’t every day one had the ear of a king. 

“One more question,” called the moderator. She locked eyes with you across the room and gestured toward you with the microphone in her hand. “You there!”

_ This was it. _

With trembling hands, you accepted the microphone. You hated public speaking; this felt just like it.

“Um,” you cleared your throat. “Your Majesty--.”

The man beside you chuckled.

“In the current neoliberal landscape of globalization and white supremacist capitalism, what role will Wakanda play in aiding neighboring nations without the paternalistic policies imparted by other “developed” nations,” you queried.

T’Challa’s brows raised. So, too, did those of the gentleman beside you.

“An excellent and thoughtful question, Miss--,” began the King.

You stated your name into the microphone, hand still trembling slightly.

“As a nation, it is Wakanda’s responsibility…”

The answer to your question could have been an additional seminar. You took frantic notes. King T’Challa’s points were perfect for your research.

After the event concluded, T’Challa was sure to pull you aside. He asked you about your academic program and if he could be of any help. After you picked your jaw off the floor, the two of you exchanged contact information. Turning to leave--a pleased grin straining your cheeks--you collided with a certain handsome stranger. 

“M’Baku,” you breathed. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking.”

“I was,” he said with an easy shrug. “I overheard your conversation with T’Challa. Could you use the help of two Wakandan kings?”

“Why? Do you know of another,” you asked skeptically.

“You are looking at him,” he charmed. 

_

That star-scripted day led to an interview over lunch. But, one lunch meeting was not nearly enough time to gather all the insight that M’Baku had for you. Lunch led to dinner. Dinner led to a trip to the African Art Museum. A trip to the museum led to a film festival. The movies led to a day at the botanic garden, and so on. Eventually, your thesis was complete and your “meetings” with M’Baku continued--progressing into something more. 

A year and a half to the day you met, M’Baku proposed to you. In American fashion. An engagement ceremony in Jabariland followed. Since then, it was a whirlwind of ceremony and study to prepare you to be fit to occupy the throne as Queen of the Jabari Tribe. 

_

You finally memorized the complete history of Jabariland. As a “reward”, the elderwomen allowed you one single day off. All you wanted to do was sleep. Your body was tired from combat traning. Your voice was hoarse from reciting the same monologue for hours on end. And, to make matters worse, you and your betrothed were to sleep in separate quarters until the wedding night. It would be worth it in the end, you knew that. But, that didn’t make it any less difficult. 

“Where are you, my love?” called the resonant voice you knew so well. 

“I have been informed that you have today off,” he continued, voice growing closer and clearer. “Let us dine togeth--love?”

You felt his hurried footsteps on the Jabari wood floors, the rush of cool air as your blankets were pulled back.

“Are you ill, my love? Why are you still in bed? You always rise with the sun.” His voice was heavy with concern.

You breathed deeply and rolled over to greet the worried face of your husband-to-be.

“Too tired,” you rasped, voice nearly gone. 

His brow creased as he took in the sight and sound of you. 

“I think you need more than just one day of rest, sithandwa,” M’Baku said, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

You groaned.

“I have to be ready for the wedding, ‘Baku. It has to be perfect.”

M’Baku pulled you from the bed and into his arms. He made toward the bathroom.

“With you as my bride, it will be,” he assured. 

He drew you a bath, adding oil and epsom salts. You rested your head against the side of the carved tub. M’Baku stroked your cheek gently with one hand as the other poured warm water over your sore muscles. 

“I will have a word with the elders. There is no logic in them pushing you this hard. The days leading to our wedding ceremony are meant to be joyful, not taxing. This will not do,” M’Baku grumbled.

“But, this is different,” you rasped. “I have so much to learn. I have to be ready.”

“And you will be. In your own time. We must honor tradition, but we must honor ourselves as well.”

After helping you from the bath and into a warm lounge set, M’Baku sent for your meals. 

Once your plates were cleared, M’Baku carried you--he insisted your feet not touch the ground--to the plush settee, a massive wooden thing covered in layers upon layers of wool and woven fabrics. A plate of indulgent Jabari desserts and teas sat atop the ottoman before it.

Pulling you onto his lap, he draped a thick blanket over the two of you. His strong hands caressed your arms gently--up and down, up and down. You melted into his embrace, breathing in that familiar smell of cedar and brown sugar. 

“I will cancel my meetings and such for the next three days, my love. I will not have you exhausting yourself. Even if it is the elders’ will,” he murmured against your curls.

“It’s ok, M’Baku. I’ve memorized the history and completed combat training. There isn’t much left to do,” you reasoned.

“I will not have it, oh,” he rumbled. 

Before you could argue, he placed a firm kiss on your lips. His hands drifted from your arms to rest on your hips. 

You hummed. 

“I suppose I could use a vacation,” you mused. 

“Very good. It starts now,” he murmured, pulling you ever closer into his warmth. 


End file.
